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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624603">Domesticity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue'>disingenue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:27:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A favorite word of yours, apparently.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin &amp; Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Analog iPhone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the writing desk (the Command Center) in the corner of Lexa’s kitchen sat her journal, open to the current date. The brunette seemed unbothered by this; while they had first been dating she had thought to put it away or at least shut it, but now that they were a consistent item, the journal remained out in the open.</p><p>It was largely a convenience move, and a glimpse of the pages revealed why. Lexa had once proudly thumbed the pages, showing Clarke all she had filled. The book was black, about the size of a school notebook. ‘My iPhone’, the brunette had called it to Clarke.</p><p>“That time I told you about, when I lost my phone,” she explained, “I didn’t think I knew how to journal at the time, but I actually did. I needed to lose my smartphone to understand that.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>Lexa nodded, fingering the open pages. “They taught us to journal in preschool,” she pointed out. “And I learned how to write shift reports in security…”</p><p>Clarke grinned as she noted the columns and sections that laid out each page, ‘<em>Contacts’, ‘Favourite Words’ ‘Hearts’ Desires’, ’To Do’, ‘Priorities’, ‘Quotes’, ‘To Buy’, ‘Gratitudes’, ‘Schedule / Report’</em>. “So that’s why you keep it in 24-hour time,” she giggled.</p><p>Lexa swung her head to regard her with poorly-concealed amusement. “Clarke. 24-hour time is the only time format that matters. We’ve been over this.” They had. Lexa loved pointing out that 24-hour time was kept by the military and hospitals as well as security. Even her AA group passed out 24-hour chips. “Twenty four, Clarke. Magic Number.”</p><p>“You don’t feel weird that it’s out where I can see it?”</p><p>Lexa pulled a face. “This isn’t the only journal I keep, Clarke. This is just the master plan.”</p><p>“Ahh, gotcha,” the blonde returned, enlightened.</p><p>“Check this out,” Lexa proposed, going to the bookshelf to pull out another leather-bound notebook, smaller but thicker than her main journal. She put it on the counter, opening it carefully for Clarke’s appreciation. The pages were unmarred by pen of any sort. Pressed flowers, occasionally a feather, or a receipt were curated carefully between the pages.</p><p>“Oh, cool,” Clarke commented, a hand coming up to rest on Lexa’s shoulder as she looked past a tattooed arm to the pages.</p><p>“Yeah… That’s the tracing paper from my crow,” she told Clarke, indicating to the matching tattoo on her forearm. “And this is Mike’s feather, from the time he got into a huge territory battle with that pigeon… This lavender… did you know they have planters upon planters of lavender up at the plaza at the end of Tondc Street?”</p><p>“We walked by that on our lunch last week,” Clarke remembered. “And there was rosemary outside that cafe…”</p><p>“Yeah. I dunno. Cool, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah, Lex, this is— actually,” Clarke looked up to peer in to Lexa’s eyes for a moment, “Could I take this later, to draw some of the feathers and flowers?”</p><p>Lexa considered mutely for a few moments, turning the page to regard the delicate pressed petals of a white rose. “I like the way you think,” she decided. Highest compliments from Lexa. The brunette wound an arm around Clarke’s waist, tugging her in for a quick squeeze. “Just be careful that none of it falls out. None of it’s really secured in here.”</p><p>Clarke leaned in, giving Lexa a kiss on the temple. She knew just what Lexa needed to hear.</p><p>“I’ll treat it like a legal document."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Flowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa was mumbling lyrics, <em>"They call it flowing, Clarke, I love that word for it."</em> into the kitchen sink. “Do you know what I really appreciate, Clarke?” She looked up to muse.</p><p>“What, babe?”</p><p>“I appreciate that you don’t think anything of my rap, and you just let me do it.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You don’t have to be an expert on it... that would probably just give me someone to debate with and I try to avoid that. I just like that you don’t mind... I know I get carried away sometimes, but the lyrics are explicit, dark and misogynistic... people don’t appreciate that, but I do. Big surprise,” she chuckled. “So anyways, I do it by myself or to Titus, so that I won’t offend anyone because it’s hard for me to tell when I’m doing that. And do you know what happens next, Clarke?”</p><p>“What happens, Lexa?” Clarke prompted, placing a few pixelated strokes of magenta onto her tablet.</p><p>“I slip up every once in a while, human error and all that, and people are... shocked. Like, what is this white girl doing rapping and how can she do it so well?! Has she been secretly doing this all along?!”</p><p>Clarke was grinning.</p><p>“Clarke, look at me.”</p><p>“Yes, Lexa, I am looking at you.”</p><p>“Well, what the fuck else do they want me to do?!”</p><p>A soft giggle came from the living room. Lexa just loved that, when it happened. She smiled widely as she continued.</p><p>“No, seriously, Clarke, this is where you have to give me your opinion, and tell me if I’m missing something,” she now reminded the blonde, “that is kind of what you bring to the table in this whole thing.”</p><p>“You’re asking for my opinion,” Clarke verified with a knowing smile. “Damn, I love being the Expert every now and then.” Maybe she was trophying, a bit. It was all in good fun.</p><p>“Well,” Clarke began. “I don’t really think it matters what you miss, as long as you keep me around.”</p><p>Abruptly, Lexa slapped the counter in satisfaction. “Look at this girl go with the profound stuff,” she crowed to Titus. “You’ve got some really good thoughts on that pretty head,” she complimented Clarke.</p><p>Clarke was smiling proudly. How could one not? An idea dawned on her. Sometimes it was just so fun to turn Lexa’s own shit around on her.</p><p>“Well... did you assume that because I’m blonde, I can’t say smart stuff,” she accused the brunette slyly. Silence at the kitchen counter. She knew Lexa was working it out. It was okay if Clarke made her sweat a little every once in a while. She watched the brunette turn to regard her suspiciously, but appraisingly.</p><p>“Don’t try to pull that on me, you little shit,” she chastised Clarke playfully. “Just go back to your drawing, and listen to me flow.”</p>
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